Chapter 2: I Am The Last Hope
In my mind's eye, I see Selphia's bathhouse.
It's a place of relaxation, safety, and warmth. I couldn't count how many times I have let my body, sore and aching from physical practice, slide down into its steamy waters. I would always sigh in relief, as my muscles finally got to unclench and relax.
I would close my eyes, float peacefully, and let my thoughts wander.
I see it again now, and for a second, the fog of my confusion seems to morph into the water vapour, rising from the spa. I smile -- it's a happy memory, one that makes me feel good.
In the memory, I'm not alone.
Before me is Margaret. Her pointy elven ears poke out of her golden mane, and for once, there's a genuine smile on her face. She can get a bit nosy at times, maybe downright bossy -- if never unkind - but the pool can make anyone relax.
"Did you see what I did with the lute last night?" She says, in reference to her show at the eatery. "I'm really proud of how it turned out."
"You were great!" I say, and then, stammering, "I mean, uh, the m-music was great. You were very good, is what I mean."
God, my cheeks feel hotter than my armor does in the sun. I feel more comfortable with sword in hand than I do with small talk, sometimes.
I'm shoulders-deep in the water, with my chin dipping just beneath the surface. Margaret, conversely, sits by the pool's edge, looking down at me.
"Safe to say you liked the show then," she says, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Was there anything else that you liked?"
A part of my brain -- a part I can't quite come to terms with -- thinks Margaret is really, really pretty. I like how slender and long her legs look, draped one over the other, her feet bobbing up and down, splashing teasingly at the water.
She's self-conscious about being short, but from down here, she just looks... princely, to me.
I like her subtle smile, the gentle cleverness in her eyes, which seems to suggest she knows something I don't. Almost like she's making fun of me, in a modest, kind-hearted way.
Unfortunately, I don't know how to deal with this playful behaviour. I am a knight. I'm at home in armour, with sword in hand. Here, in the pool, with Margaret making light fun of me, I have no idea how to behave.
Margaret extends her leg towards me, curving the ankle, so her foot is rotated in my direction, as if she's proffering it. "If I get any better with the lute, I'll have people kissing my feet as they beg me to play!"
My cheeks blush so strongly and so rapidly that it's like they're on fire. I lower myself even further into the water, as if wanting to hide my embarassment. "Get that away from my face, please," I say, wrinkling my nose.
"Woah, okay there! Didn't expect you'd take it so seriously," Margaret replies, sliding into the water with a giggle, and swimming away from me.
I shake my head, confused and slightly embarassed. But then, I blink once, twice.
All of this has, of course, already happened. It's a memory.
But if it's a memory...
Where am I?
Slowly, groggily, my eyes pry themselves open, to a world of utter, impenetrable darkness.
And then, all of a sudden, the memories of my defeat at Illuminata's hands return.
They flash before me in a blur -- her deception in the streets, the drug-laced tea, the creepy words on human trafficking and the value of human livestock, the question that also contained a promise...
Do you want to know what it's like to be broken, Forte?
I shake my head, rising to my knees, feeling around with my tied hands -- there's a wall nearby, and I lean against it, climbing to my feet. I've been stripped of sword and armour, and the rags I'm wearing are barely enough to cover my modesty. The dark will take care of that, I suppose, but that's not my only problem. It's cold and damp, down here, and I find myself shivering.
Every inch of my body hurts, and my head is pounding, but the worst damage is the one inflicted to my pride. I've suffered a humiliating defeat at the hands of a wisp of a girl, and I am now her prisoner. The very human trafficking ring I was meant to stop, has taken me prisoner.
I'm angry. I should have never fallen into such an amateurish trap so easily. And what does my brain do? Start reminiscing about days with Margaret in the bathhouse? I fear that a subconscious part of me is hoping for Margaret to mount a search for me. To come rescue me.
That's humiliating.
I'm not a damsel in distress, damn it! I'm a knight, and I don't need saving!
If I want to get myself out of here, the first thing I need to do is assess my surroundings. Illuminata referred to this place as a basement, but to me it feels more like a cave -- I feel naked rock under my hand, after all. But how large is it?
Assuming it's an enclosed room, I should be able to walk its perimeter and count my steps -- if only I can find some kind of marker to make sure I don't walk in circles...
Before I can get started, however, a fit of cough breaks out in the cavern, wide like an explosion. I stop in my tracks, staying as still as I can.
"A new one, eh?" A voice croaks from the darkness. It's an old, ragged voice, and a familiar one. My eyes widen in shock.
"Rolf?" I say, stupefied -- he's one of the shepherds who live in the countryside around Selphia. "Is that you?"
"Forte?" He says, sounding as incredulous as I am. But then, to my surprise, more voices break out from the darkness.
"Forte? Did you say Forte?"
"Forte's here?"
"She here to save us?"
"No she isn't," Rolf replies to the other prisoners -- men and women, who have been here for who knows how long. "She a captive, lads. Just like us."
His words smart. Blood rushes to my cheeks, and my hands ball into fists. "I will save you! I'm a knight, and I'll get you out of here!"
